


oh, the times that can be

by pen_light



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Holiday Mixtape 2018, M/M, Sweet, Team Free Will 2.0, Winter, cute interactions between Team Free will, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 17:24:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17248352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pen_light/pseuds/pen_light
Summary: Imagine the holiday season. One void of monsters, hunts. One where the bunker is just a home, not a headquarters. One where Castiel explores new changes, Dean can't contain his excitement, and Sam and Jack are merry on their own.Imagine.





	oh, the times that can be

**Author's Note:**

> hi! here's my last minute holiday mixtape fic! i hope you like it, i just threw up words on the screen for this one. 
> 
> i HIGHLY suggest listening to "the final famous scene" by bob seger while reading this
> 
> enjoy!

 

Imagine a city street. One with street lights standing tall, awnings looming above, and people bustling. Chimes singing as store doors open and close, kids laughing as they jump and run out of the token candy shop, their parents tired but amused. 

 

Imagine an evening setting in the winter. The sun’s just setting, the clouds taking up most of the space, blocking the wonderful hues caused by the sun’s descent. Nevertheless, tints and shades peek through, reflecting off of the snow on the ground and air. There’s a slight, the softest snow falling down on the Earth, the snowflakes melting as soon as they reached the salted portions of ground.

 

Castiel’s standing on the edge of the sidewalk. His toes are dangling off of the curb, the concrete digging into the arch of his feet. The man makes a conscientious effort to wiggle his toes, more or less trying to fixate on point pressure in the middle of his feet. 

 

He can see his breath. Castiel watches his breath puff up into the empty space in front of him as he sighs. Calm blue eyes watch the fogged up, muddle storm mix with the snow, reflecting colors here and there. The angel shrugs his shoulders a bit, shaking around to get more comfortable in his balloon like winter jacket. 

 

That’s something new. There’s been a lot of new aspects in the man’s life, and the change in attire was simply one of them. No more rackety brown trench-coats. No more full blown suits under said trench-coats. These were the days for comfort, for embracing the casual attire that the angel’s human friends seemed to mostly adorn themselves with. In Castiel’s case, that’s added up to a thick flannel, a band t-shirt (iron maiden?), jeans, sneakers (boots were the first suggestion, but for some reason, they were as comfortable as sneakers), scarfs, hats, gloves, and a ridiculous Michelin man, shiny grey winter jacket. 

 

When the jacket doesn’t align to a more comfortable position along his shoulders, Castiel rolls his eyes and sighs again—through his nose this time—far more forcefully. In his mind, he curses at Dean for purchasing the stupid jacket. He even goes as far as to mock the other’s words, “If you’re going for change, change all out Cas. Those fancy coats look too much like your old trench-coat”, adding the spice by mimicking it in the classic mockery high voice (In his mind of course. Saying that out loud would warrant weird looks.). 

 

Things have changed. That’s been established. 

 

Castiel shakes as a quick shiver hits him when a few small snowflakes drop directly on his nose. 

 

So, what’s an angel doing playing around on the edge of a sidewalk in a relatively crowed city street where the crowds are a-bustling and the dead leaves are a-rustling, and the stores are thriving, and snow is lightly falling? 

 

Headlights alert the angel from a turn near to his left. The sun has just begun to set, and only a few drivers have given a thought to turn on their headlights. Not that it was too much of an urgent ordeal with that much light in the air. Castiel, himself, is guilty of not turning on the lights when the sky is purple—just before noir—as he fails to catch himself relying on his supernatural abilities. 

 

No, these headlights were flashing. If Castiel hadn’t squinted and started walking, the flickering would’ve been accompanied by honking. There’s no doubt about that. 

 

Castiel stops, his hands becoming slightly restless in his pockets. Baby takes her sweet time in rolling up the part of the sidewalk Castiel was situated. When the Impala does come to the still, the first action Castiel takes is to lean forward, the faintest expression of frustration worn. 

 

The passenger seat window rolls down to reveal quite a happy hunter behind the wheel. The man leans towards Castiel, his hand resting on the headrest of passenger seat, and the angels that he can see twinkles in the happiness on the other’s face. 

 

“Hey there, handsome,” Dean flirts, only it’s not a flirtation. No, it’s a giddy-ridden attempt at the suggestive action. Dean, when this happy, can’t find it in himself to control the emotion. And Castiel never wants him to, so it all works out. 

 

“You’re late,” Castiel deadpans, opening the door and sitting down. 

 

Dean shrugs. “I had to make a pit stop in the kitchen to steal some icing. Jack’s at it again at trying another gingerbread house with Sam.” He laughs. “Nerds.” 

 

Castiel tries his hardest to hold back the smile that wants to creep up on his face. “That’s great, Dean. This jacket is stupid.” 

 

Perhaps, Castiel isn’t as successful in hiding the flush that was trying to come up to his cheeks a moment ago, for, right before Dean switches into drive and turns off the blinkers, the hunter turns and smiles immediately. 

 

“It’s cute.” He then bends over the gearshift more, his face incredibly close to Castiel’s. “And you’re cute.” 

 

Castiel rolls his eyes and puffs at his slightly overgrown hair. (“Bedhead” is apparently Castiel’s look. Or so Dean claims.) 

 

Dean just stays there. And moments pass by and Castiel knows what the hunter’s looking for. 

 

Does he give it to him? 

 

There’s another sigh (the importance of breathing, Castiel supposes). And then there’s the turn of a head and the smallest smooch. 

 

Dean grins more into the kiss, and this time, Castiel does too. 

 

“Did you have fun?” The hunter asks softly. 

 

“Dean, I was at the post office. And there was a really long line. And people were complaining about things for no reason.” 

 

The hunter shrugs, pulling back. “Could’ve been fun. What about the mechanic?”

 

“There was a lot of wait there too,” Castiel replied straightly. “That and the post office almost gave me a migraine.” 

 

And Dean had to chuckle. “Yeah, well,” he says, turning towards the road. “Those are the joys of the holidays. Everyone’s out to finish things up—dumbass procrastinators.” 

 

Castiel side-eyes Dean. “Dean. We’re one of those ‘those dumbass procrastinators’.” 

 

When the other grumbles with a mini scowl, Castiel laughs. He reaches forward to meet Dean’s hand around the gear shift softly. 

 

“Let’s go home,” the angel whispers softly. And Dean’s sour expression softens and falls. And something wistful replaces it. (Minor moments where the reality of their change always seems to startle and enrapture Dean. The hunter gives into every time.) Caught in the moment, Dean leans forward again for a quick peck. (Every time.) 

 

Castiel holds back a laugh. “My migraine is getting worse.” He says right after the kiss. 

 

Wist is gone and a punch is landed on Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel laughs openly. 

 

“Shut up, you dork,” Dean mumbles, pulling into the street. (It’s nowhere near as effective of a retort as ‘Jerk’ v. ‘Bitch’, but Dean’s not going to go about calling Castiel a ‘Bitch’.) 

 

(And Castiel mentions that. Every time.) “Good one, Dean.” 

 

Dean scoffs, eyes trained on the road, but hand searching for Castiel’s. Once found, he holds on tight for the remainder of the ride, letting go only to shift into park once the ride is over. 

 

Yes. Things have changed. For the best, Castiel hopes. There aren’t any moments happier than the ones he’s been experiencing that he can imagine. 

 

These are the times that he thought could’ve been long before. 

 

These are the times that can. 

 

(And these are the times that _did_.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Some things don’t change however.)

 

“Jack, bud,” Dean starts before chomping down on a shard of gingerbread. “You are aware that Christmas was a few days ago, right?” 

 

Castiel scoffs and rolls his eyes. 

 

“Yes,” Jack replies a matter of a fact. Sam laughs, working to clean up the mess of two destroyed gingerbread houses. 

 

Before Dean can imagine up another comment to say, Castiel turns to him sharply, his eyebrows shot up. 

 

“Take down the tree then.” 

 

Jack almost spits out his bite of ginger bread and Dean gasps, betrayed. “ _Never_. I spent so much time on that. All the hard work, Cas, how _could_ you?” 

 

“I did all the hard work,” Jack interjects, giggles bubbling up. His eyes are a little teary from the near choking incident just a few seconds before and Sam gives him a few pats on the back. 

 

Dean waves at him thoughtlessly. “Not now kids, the adults are talking.” 

 

And at that, Sam grabs Jack’s shoulders and ushers him a few steps back. “Careful now. Dean’s about to have his ass handed to him.” 

 

Castiel shoots Sam a look and the younger Winchester holds his hands up in surrender. Dean tries to follow the same, trying to direct the heat towards his brother. 

 

“Yeah, Sammy. Cas’ isn’t going to hand my a—“ 

 

“ _Dean_ ,” Castiel warns. “This has reminded me of things we’ve got to discuss. Don’t get me started in front of the kids.” 

 

Dean straightened out, his demise well understood. He points sharply at Jack. “Jack eats sugary cereal at 3 am!” 

 

The youngest jumps a bit. “Dean!” 

 

“Jack?!” Sam exclaims. 

 

Castiel turns to Jack for a brief moment. And his partner takes his chance to make a run for it. 

 

Castiel rolls his eyes, “Dean!” 

 

Sam’s momentarily distracted with all the commotion from his brother that Jack escapes as well, following Dean in a sprint. 

 

There’s some jingling of keys, followed by the bunker’s door making that distinct creak when it opens. 

 

“C’mon kid, it won’t take them long to catch up with us,” someone (Dean) yells urgently (from outside, probably in Baby) and the door closes swiftly. 

 

Silence fills the bunker, leaving Castiel and Sam to blink and process what just happened. 

 

“Merry Christmas, Cas,” Sam says, holding his head in his hands as he leaned over the counter, tired. 

 

Castiel turns to Sam, equally as tired. The two of them are smiling, however, on the verge of delirious laughter. “Christmas was a few days ago, Sam.” 

 

And they laugh. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you liked it! 
> 
> visit me on tumblr @uselessspork


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